Germanica

CHAPTER 15

“This is disgusting,” Winnie said as she watched the first bus pull away from the border checkpoint with Germanica. The bus was trailed by two others and by several trucks, all containing luggage and furniture. The bus windows were closed and shaded. Whoever was inside was safe from prying eyes. However, she and Ernie knew who the passengers were. Allen Dulles had gotten the information from his contacts in the Swiss government. At first it had shocked them, but then it did make sense.

“The black widow and her hatchlings have arrived,” Ernie said and Winnie nodded.

The bus contained Magda Goebbels and her six children. Whether or not Magda would stay at the very hastily constructed compound surrounding a large house outside of Arbon was another matter. Ernie felt it was likely that she would cross the border at her leisure and be at her husband’s side until the end. The children, it was felt, would stay in the relative safety of Arbon, or be moved someplace else in Switzerland. Whether or not either parent would die in the fighting was another unanswered question.

A dozen Swiss soldiers on motorcycles led the parade and chased other vehicles off the road. Allen Dulles sat down beside them on a park bench as the parade passed them. He handed each of them a coffee in a cardboard mug.

“Are we going to follow them?” Winnie asked.

“No point to it. We know precisely where they are going and why. When they arrive, they will be secure and secluded. We will observe them and the compound at our leisure.”

Ernie grimaced. The coffee had gotten cold. “From what you’ve told us, they have a hand-picked group of so-called assistants inside the compound. They are, of course, all SS troops and their one and only job is to keep mother viper and her viperlings safe. And, there will be at least a battalion of Swiss army soldiers securing the outside.”

Dulles smiled. “And none of them will be personally neutral. I have it on excellent authority that they’ve been hand-picked because of their pro-Nazi leanings. Therefore, there’s not much chance of their being suborned by sweet talk or money from us.”

Winnie sighed. “Well, it would be wonderful to talk with the happy family. In particular, I’d like to talk to the children.”

Dulles smiled like the cat who’d eaten the canary. “We will.”

“And just how will you do that?” asked Ernie. “Just how devious are you going to be this time?”

Dulles pretended to be hurt. “I’m not going to be devious at all. I’ve gone about it the old-fashioned way. I simply contacted the Germans via the Swiss and asked for a meeting. Frau Goebbels is as intrigued as we are and will grant an interview just as soon as they are settled in. It shouldn’t take more than a couple of days.”

“May I ask her about Marie Leroux?”

Dulles winced. “I have it on very good authority that both she and Sven are still alive. Beyond that, I cannot say.”

“Is it safe to assume that your contacts come from General Vietinghoff’s headquarters?” asked Ernie.

Dulles shook his head. “I will neither confirm nor deny that. Sadly, I can report that both were interrogated and the interrogations were rather brutal along with being very effective.”

“Oh God,” moaned Winnie.

“What can we do to strike back at them?” asked Ernie. “If Herr Goebbels should decide to make a conjugal visit to fornicate with Frau Goebbels, could we arrange to either kill him or kidnap him while they’re screwing their little Nazi hearts out?”

“Absolutely not. First, it would do nothing towards shortening the war. Someone else, probably Field Marshal Schoerner, would take over immediately. Perhaps the successor would even be the head torturer himself, General Hahn. If there was some way of getting Vietinghoff on the throne, I would consider it.”

Ernie didn’t argue. He’d expected the rebuff.

Dulles continued. “There is also the fact that the Swiss government would be deeply offended and require us to leave their country immediately. Whether or not we approve is irrelevant. The United States likes having an outpost so close to the heart of the cancerous Nazi tumor; that is, if Nazi tumors have hearts.

“Therefore, you will make no plans regarding any assassination or kidnapping of Josef Goebbels. Nor will you contemplate kidnapping or harming either Magda Goebels or her children. We simply will not sink to their level.”

“Even if it meant saving lives?” Winnie asked as she wiped the tears from her face.

Dulles nodded tolerantly. “Winifred, when you asked to cross the border as part of an OSS team, I turned you down because I thought you’d be caught immediately. Now you’re feeling guilty because you didn’t push me hard enough. Instead, your old friend Marie went in and is suffering the torments of hell. I have no regrets as to my choice and you have no choice but to respect it. It was not your decision, it was mine and mine alone. You did not have a vote. There was no way on earth that I was going to let you enter Germany or, if you prefer, Germanica. Not only would it have been a waste of your talents, but the political implications would have been enormous. The one time I did send you, the circumstances were considerably different and there was a sense of urgency.”

He shook his head. “Nor did I feel that there was any real danger in that excursion. It was nothing more than the drop off and subsequent pickup of of an envelope that we’d done many times before. I had no idea that Hitler would decide to kill his wretched self on that date and cause such chaos.”

Ernie was puzzled. “Winnie, what the hell is this nice man talking about when he says political implications.”

She smiled wanly. “My father is, was, a friend of Roosevelt’s. He is a big contributor to the Democratic Party. He’s also a buddy of Colonel Donovan’s.”

“I’m surprised that Winnie didn’t tell you too much about herself,” Dulles said. “Along with being lovely, graceful, and intelligent, she is quite wealthy and part of Philadelphia’s Main Line community.”

“Winnie, is that true? What does your father do?”

She was able to manage a real smile. “He buys things. The last time we talked he was thinking about buying Philadelphia.”

* * *

Having gotten out of bombing German targets in the mountains at night, neither Bud nor George, nor the other pilots for that matter, could complain about escorting bombers on another toilet paper run.

As with this and previous other flights, the bombers they were protecting would drop leaflets over what were presumed to be German positions occupied by turncoat Russians. Neither man had heard of a General Vlasov and his anti-communist army. But if they were fighting for the Germans, then they were the enemy. Nor were any of the pilots concerned about the rumored forced repatriation of the Russians to Stalin’s embrace. Hell, they’d fought for the Germans and should be punished. The piper wants to be paid, one pilot had said.

But if thousands of Russians could be convinced to surrender, then a lot of Americans might survive the war instead of getting killed in pointless fighting. The surrender of the Japanese after the second atomic bomb had struck Nagasaki had come as a pleasant surprise to everyone. It had been presumed that the Japs would fight to the last Japanese man, woman, and child, and that the war would continue for many long years. The American body count would run into the hundreds of thousands, if not more. “The Golden Gate in Sixty Eight,” was a commonly heard cry from the soldiers in the Pacific. Now it looked like it was the Nazis who wouldn’t give up. The Germans didn’t stand a ghost of a chance against the Americans, so why were they still fighting, was the constantly asked question.

“Toilet paper away, alert the assholes,” said a sarcastic Bud as bomb bay doors opened and tens of thousands of sheets of paper billowed down. Puffs of black smoke appeared by the bombers as German antiaircraft guns took up the challenge.

“Where are they coming from?” Bud asked. He looked below for flashes of gunfire. “I see something, guys. Just follow me.”

A stream of four planes plummeted down. When they were low enough, Bud fired his rockets and machine guns, the shells’ impacts highlighting what he thought was a target. The other planes saturated the area with their rockets and machine guns. There were no secondary explosions and there was no more antiaircraft fire. They made a second pass and dropped bombs. This time there was a small secondary explosion and they were jubilant. They received radioed thanks from the bomber pilots.

“Well,” said George, “do you think we hit them or just chased them away.”

“Either way works fine for me. I hate to lose bombers I’m supposed to be shepherding. I think the bomber pilots are arrogant pricks, but they are Americans.”

“Yep, and they think we’re arrogant pricks as well.”

Ahead, the bombers were turning and heading back to base. The fighters followed in their wake. Other formations joined them and a mighty armada that hadn’t dropped a single bomb turned for home.

“What are they having for dinner tonight?” asked Bud.

“Shit on a shingle. What else? Rumor has it that when we run out of that crap they’ll declare the war over and we’ll all go home.”

Bud laughed. “Then let’s eat hearty. And when we’re done we can go into town and see that new cabaret everyone’s talking about.”

“Which one is that?”

“The one where all the women are dressed up like nuns.”

* * *

Once upon a time, the road south to Innsbruck had been paved. It had taken drivers on a comfortable and scenic trip between snow-capped mountains. They would arrive at Innsbruck ready for a holiday filled with skiing and other activities. But it had been shelled and bombed so often that the road had reverted to a far more primitive state. It was now worse than if it had never been paved. Craters that could swallow trucks caused the line of Sherman tanks to snake its way slowly down the remains of the highway. White flags nailed to stakes showed where a path had been cleared of German mines. A tank carrying flails that whipped from a bulldozer-like front led the way. It was based on an idea by British officer named Percy Hobart. It and other creations were called “Hobart’s Funnies.” What was a real laugh for the Germans was that the minesweeping tank actually worked as the flails caused the mines to detonate harmlessly.

As long as the American armor kept to the cleared path, they were reasonably safe. The GIs were not likely to stray. Intelligence said they were now in the middle of an extensive minefield. It would be a long time before all the mines were located and dug up.

Tanner nervously followed the column of tanks in a jeep with Sergeant Hill. Their job was to check and see if any Russian prisoners had been swept up or, better, if any of them had decided to surrender as a result of the blizzard of papers urging them to do so. Cynics doubted it if or no other reason than that the Russians were largely illiterate.

Sergeant Archie Dixon was in the first tank behind the flail. Even though there was a significant difference in rank, the meetings between Dixon and Tanner had been cordial, even friendly. Tanner thought that Dixon was a good kid and a helluva leader and wondered where he’d wind up when the war was over. Assuming he made it through, of course.

“Movement,” yelled Hill. A second later, a dozen men jumped up from where they’d been hiding in the grasses along the side of the road. They were carrying Panzerfausts, the antitank rocket that could be fired by one man if necessary. It didn’t have much range, but the Germans were already too close for comfort.

Machine guns cut down several of the Germans, but enough of them got close enough to fire at the tanks. The German rockets arched out and struck their targets. Several struck treads, which was only an inconvenience since damaged treads could be repaired.

Tanner watched in horror as Dixon’s tank was hit. It staggered to a halt and smoke began to pour out of it. Men followed and one man was limping on one leg. He was missing his left foot and screaming. The wounded American staggered off the path and into the minefield. He had gotten only a few yards, when a spring-loaded German antipersonnel mine known as a “Bouncing Betty” jumped from the ground, exploded, and disemboweled him.

Tanner ran to the damaged tank, hugging other vehicles and trying very hard to stay on the path. Medics had arrived at Dixon’s tank by the time he arrived. They had bravely dared to leave the path to get to the casualties.

One of Dixon’s crewmen lay facedown in the dirt. A medic had put his helmet over his face and turned away. A second crewman lay half out of a hatch and the lower half of his body was smoldering. Dixon was leaning against another tank, his face contorted with physical and emotional pain.

Dixon saw Tanner. “They killed my men. Why did they have to do that?”

It’s because we’re at war, he thought but did not say. It would have been too cruel. “Sergeant, are you wounded?”

“I don’t think so, but I wish I was. Maybe I wish I was dead. I think I’m the only survivor from my crew. Would you tell me why that happened?”

“I have no idea,” he said. He thought that one of Dixon’s other men might still be alive, but it wasn’t the time to bring it up.

A medic came and pulled on Dixon’s arm until he followed him. “Shell-shock,” said Hill. “Maybe he’ll come out of it and maybe he won’t.”

Tanner had seen enough mental cases caused by the war to last a lifetime. He looked around at the terrain. The mountains that used to look scenic and romantic seemed to be glowering at him. “Sergeant Hill, is it just me or are the Alps getting bigger and closer?”

* * *

It was movie time in the White House again. The audience was small, consisting of the President and General Marshall. There were no refreshments, although Truman had a bourbon and water. The projectionist had been dismissed after confirming that the five star general could actually run the device. What they were going to discuss would be very sensitive and the fewer who heard them, the better.

A number of scenes had been spliced together, all in black and white and all with that annoying herky-jerky motion that made old movies so maddeningly difficult to watch. It even made war look deceptively funny.

However, each man knew that what they were watching contained no humor whatsoever. The scenes were from World War I battles along the border between Italy and Austria and what they showed were mountains covered by snow deep enough to swallow men, horses, and vehicles. Soldiers moved through the snow with great difficulty, while others burrowed into the massive drifts, made caves, and lived like Eskimos. Some of them actually laughed and played around for the camera.

The Austrians held the high ground and the Italians were slaughtered in great numbers. Black splotches on the snow were bodies-many, many bodies.

The film ended. Marshall turned on the lights. He did not rewind the film. That chore would be left to the real projectionist to handle.

“Sir, those battles lasted almost the entire war and nothing much was gained by them. Italy was almost forced out of the war and that led, at least in part, to the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. If winter comes and the Germans haven’t been defeated, that is where and how we’ll be fighting them.”

“Are you telling me that you don’t want us to repeat those battles? If you are, don’t worry. I have no intention of letting that happen.”

“Even though I’ve heard it before, Mr. President, I’m glad to hear you say it again. My point in showing the films is to remind you that winter is going to be upon us in just a couple of months. When that happens, fighting in the mountains is going to be extremely difficult at best. Even though much of the area has a moderate climate and there are many areas that aren’t at all mountainous, the Germans will withdraw to the worst terrain and dare us to root them out.”

“How much use would mountain troops be?”

“They would be excellent, only there aren’t enough of them, Devers has only one division, in fact, and it is being worn down pushing towards Innsbruck. It is now obvious that the Germans are shrinking their alpine redoubt and turning it into an alpine citadel. Their engineers have done a marvelous job of tunneling into the mountains and making giant storage facilities. I’m beginning to think that was their plan all along. The original redoubt was just too big to defend with the forces they had at hand.”

“I assume you have more bad news, General.”

“That depends on you, sir. When the snows come, which will be soon, serious fighting will effectively cease. We will not be able to go for the kill until the spring thaws. In short, we will be at war with the Nazis for a good eight to ten months longer unless something dramatic is done.”

The thought of the war continuing until the summer of 1946 caused Truman’s stomach to churn. “What do you propose?”

“That, sir, is not my job. I’m here to give you options. It you want this war ended before the snows, then it is highly unlikely to occur without the use of nuclear weapons.”

Truman shook his head violently. “Jesus, no. Already I’m being castigated because of the civilian casualties caused by dropping atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I have no regrets regarding those two bombs since they ended the war and saved millions of lives, but I don’t want to introduce them into the European war. The American public was fine with killing Japs, but they would not feel the same way if we began nuking Germans, even if they were Nazis. There are scores of millions of Americans who are of German extraction and they would be outraged. And, like it or not, we cannot ignore the fact that the Germans are white and the Japs yellow.”

“That, sir, leaves a massive and bloody attack by us, the use of poison gas to root them out, or, despite your protests, a nuclear drop in some uninhabited Alpine valley to let them know we’re serious. Finally, there’s cutting off their Swiss supply lines and starving them out.”

“Is ‘none of the above’ on the list of answers?”

Marshall almost smiled. “Sorry sir, but no.”

“And what about the risk of a German nuclear bomb? Nobody yet has totally ruled it out.”

Truman stood and looked out a window. The antiwar crowds had dwindled since the news of the latest German atrocities had been published. Joey Ruffino had been true to his word. He had apologized in the newspapers and gone home. Truman wished him well. Maybe when this was over, he’d get in touch, maybe invite him to the White House for a real visit.

But first this war had to end. If it lasted another winter, the clamor for a negotiated peace would arise anew and with greater fervor. Memory of the recent atrocities would fade and Americans would want their boys home safely from Germany, just as they were beginning to return from the Pacific.

Truman thought for a moment and smiled. “General, here is what we will do. First, we will prepare at least one atom bomb to be dropped in the Alps. Publicize the fact that we have it and it might just get the Nazis’ attention. Second, we will inform the Swiss that their free ride is over, that they must stop supplying the Germans. Either that or we will take action to ensure that they do.”

“General Guisan will not like that,” Marshall said. “He’s repeatedly said that the Swiss Army he commands will fight and even retreat into the mountains if it is threatened, just like the Germans are planning.”

“The hell with General Guisan,” Truman snapped. “We will let him know that we might have to violate Swiss neutrality and enter her territory, but it will be only so that we can get those damn Nazis. And if he wants to retreat to his mountains, we’ll let him. We won’t go after him. He and all of Switzerland can sit there in the mountains and freeze their asses while we chase the Germans. And no, we are not going to launch a massive and bloody attack against German defenses, and it doesn’t matter if they have the bomb or not.”

Marshall looked at Truman. He was puzzled. “You haven’t said anything about the use of poison gas.”

Truman smiled wanly. “I know.”

* * *

Winnie sat on a park bench and pretended to read a paperback copy of Gone With the Wind. The novel was one of her favorites and she’d read it a number of times. She’d never been to Atlanta, although she’d like to, and she’d never seen a plantation, or a slave for that matter. Margaret Mitchell’s prose had brought those images alive for her. This version was a casualty of the war. In order to save paper and wood, it had been printed on sheets so thin that they were almost sheer. She felt that the pages would fall apart in her hands. If she ever got it home, she would preserve it like the antique it was sure to become.

No matter. She wasn’t there to read. Her job was to keep an eye on twelve-year-old Helga Suzanne Goebbels. The oldest daughter of Josef and Magda Goebbels and a couple of large and solemn guards, along with a pair of sturdy looking women, had gone shopping in Arbon. The thought amused Winnie. Arbon was a long ways from being a major fashion or retail center. It was nothing more than a very plain little town of no distinction.

It was clear that Helga’s two male guards wanted to be where they could actively protect Helga, using force if necessary. They were very concerned about their charge’s safety. They kept looking at Winnie as if they knew who she was, which she thought was highly likely. The two women were far more tolerant and it occurred to Winnie that there had been few excursions like this in quite some time. Even though the Goebbels family was safe in Bregenz, there was still the possibility that someone would change the rules of war and bomb the German capital.

She looked up and glanced across the park. Ernie was on another bench. He caught her eye and made a big production out of pretending to pick his nose. She stifled a laugh and pretended to wipe her nose on her sleeve. Later, she would tell him that’s what civilized and cultured people did back in Philadelphia. A microphone was under her bench and they were connected by a wireless radio, and it was linked to a nearby building where anything of note was being recorded.

“Why do you hate us?”

Winnie was startled. Young Helga was standing only a few feet in front of her. Damn it, she thought, she hadn’t been paying attention. Helga’s guards hadn’t been either and they moved up quickly. Ernie stood up and moved closer. Neither she nor Ernie were carrying weapons this day. Dulles had been adamant on that. Thou shalt not annoy the Swiss, was his command.

Helga turned to her guards and waved them back. “No one is going to hurt me,” she said in a small but strong voice. Reluctantly, they took several steps back. Ernie found another place to sit and did.

“I don’t hate you,” Winnie said.

“But you’re an American, a spy, and all Americans hate us. I even know you’re name, it’s Winifred. And the man over there is named Ernie. Are you two lovers?”

“No, we’re not,” she stammered, surprised by the blunt question. “And let me repeat myself. I do not hate you. Ernie does not hate you and Harry Truman does not hate you either.”

Helga smiled briefly at that and Winnie realized that the girl was really quite pretty. “But you support the Jews and the Jews are the cancer that is destroying the world. Hitler and the Reich were put on this earth to stamp out the cancer. Why have you stopped us?”

Winnie took a deep breath. “Helga, do you consider the Jews to be human?”

The question appeared to puzzle her. “No, of course not, at least not entirely. They are less than human. They might look human, but they are not. They rob and steal from true Aryans.”

“What about the Poles and the Russians? What about other Slavs and Gypsies?”

She shook her head. “They are near human, almost human, as well. Everyone knows that.”

“And the Japanese?”

“Disgusting vermin we Germans had to deal with. I’m glad they’ve been destroyed. Sometimes back in Berlin I’d see the little yellow men in their ridiculous uniforms strutting around Berlin and I wished I could strike them because of their arrogance. It was almost as if they considered themselves Aryan and our equal. I’m glad they were punished.”

Winnie was amazed. How could an open and pretty young girl say such things and do so without any apparent emotion. “Do you feel the same way about the murders of the Jews in the death camps?”

Helga became solemn. “I’m shocked that you believe that propaganda. There are no death camps. There are prisons and of course people have died in prisons. People always die. And the people in prisons are, of course, people who have committed crimes. Life in a prison is not gentle and it shouldn’t be. I’ve been listening to my parents. They say that the United States has no right to say they are more moral after bombing Hiroshima and Nagasaki and killing hundreds of thousands of civilians, even if they were Japanese.”

“Tell me, Helga, did you ever meet Hitler?”

She brightened like a lamp that had been switched on. “I met him on many, many occasions. He had many dinners with us and us with him. He liked us children and sometimes he got down on the floor and played with the little ones. It was like he could live a normal life for just a little while and not worry about the burdens of the world. He would even bring his dog, a German Shepherd named Blondi. She would play with us too. Her great tail would wag and thump and she’d try to lick our faces. She’s dead now too.” Her eyes began to glisten with tears at the memory. “Someday, the world will recognize Hitler’s true greatness.”

Along with being shocked and horrified, Winnie was fascinated. She wanted to learn much more about the daily, even banal, life with Adolf Hitler. One of Helga’s female handlers had come within a few steps and coughed discreetly. Helga turned and glared at the woman and then turned back to Winnie. She was clearly annoyed.

“I think my guardian angel wants me to go back with her. I enjoyed this talk. Can we do it again some other time? I hope we can.”

“Even though I’m a spy and don’t hate Jews?”

Helga shrugged and smiled engagingly. “Perhaps that will make it even more interesting.”

Ernie waited a few moments before sitting down beside Winnie. Across the park, one of Helga’s male guardians glared at them. Ernie smiled and gave him the finger. The guard’s eyes widened and then he laughed and returned the favor.

“Ernie, that was incredible. I don’t know if I was just in the face of utter evil or listening to the mistaken ranting of a naive little child. Or maybe it’s a bit of both.”

“Well, she’s been listening to that crap for all of her twelve years. That’s plenty of time to be thoroughly indoctrinated. Maybe even to the point of no return.”

“I hope not. I can’t imagine children like that growing up to be future Nazis.”

Winnie stood and brushed off her skirt. “I don’t know if I feel filthy and need a bath or angry and need a drink.”

“Why not both?”

She took his arm and they walked away. “Let me think about it.”

* * *

The negotiations had been tense. The ranking Russian commander had been only a senior sergeant who covered his nervousness in front of officers by being rude and arrogant. He did speak passable German, which was a plus.

Tanner spoke first. “What should we call you and the men you represent?”

The question seemed to surprise the Russian. “Whatever you do, do not call us communists or part of the Red Army. Also, we are not Nazis. We were always fighting for our homeland. Why don’t you simply call us Russians? My name, by the way, is Sergei Radeski.”

Apparently the two other men with Radeski spoke German as well since they nodded their concurrence. Good, Tanner thought. “I see that there are no officers among you. Where are they and why would you be authorized to negotiate in behalf of your entire division.”

Radeski smiled and it wasn’t a pretty sight. Like so many of his countrymen, he was missing several teeth. Dental hygiene in the Soviet Union was a lost art. “Many of our officers had misgivings about dealing with you. We were concerned so we put them all in protective custody. Some of them are hell bent on dying in battle because they’ve been told that anyone taken prisoner by you Americans would be turned over to Stalin’s thugs to be tortured and then murdered.”

Tanner had filled his canteen with vodka. He pretended to take a swallow and handed the canteen to Radeski who sniffed, smiled and took a long swallow. “It’s almost as good as Russian vodka.”

The canteen was passed to the other Russians. When Tanner got it back, it was almost empty.

“Sergeant Radeski, what you feared was indeed likely to happen. But then Stalin went too far. Our president, Harry Truman, is very upset that Stalin is stealing so much of Europe and murdering Russians who are returned to him and that includes those ordinary prisoners who were captured. Apparently, Stalin feels that they have been contaminated. Therefore, President Truman will not force anyone to return to Russia.”

“Where will we go?” Radeski asked, suddenly very solemn. The enormity of their predicament weighed heavily on them. Their cause was lost and they were lost.

“Actually, you have several choices. And by the way, that includes the Croats among you. We will take care of them as well.”

Radeski shrugged and spat on the ground. “Fuck the Croats. I am only concerned about Russians. Now, where will we go?”

“Argentina will take you,” Tanner said. “It’s a lovely country with ranches and farms, good wine, and plenty of beef to eat.”

“Do their women like to fuck?”

Tanner didn’t have to force a smile. “Don’t they all? And then there’s France, which will take you, but they will want you to join either their army or the Foreign Legion. Either way, you will probably be sent to IndoChina where the French are fighting a communist group called the Viet Minh.”

Radeski nodded. “IndoChina has yellow-skinned women, right?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting, Captain Tanner. I’ve never fucked a yellow-skinned woman.”

“I’m sure they’d be thrilled.”

Radeski laughed. “They’d be thrilled until the money ran out. I am not a fool, Captain. I think Argentina would be the better choice, but I will have to discuss it with my men.”

They all rose and shook hands. “Don’t take too long, Senior Sergeant. If the Germans realize what we are doing, they could begin shelling.”

“You’ll have our answer in an hour.”

* * *

It took just a few minutes longer than an hour. American soldiers spotted a long and winding column of men coming down the road and keeping to the left side of it. Tanner had told them that, if they were truly surrendering, to leave all their weapons behind, and that included their German-style helmets. There was fear that the helmets would draw fire from confused American soldiers.

As the Russians slogged by, Tanner looked at their faces. Some were sad and some looked utterly defeated. Others looked hopeful and even smiled at him. They knew they’d been given a reprieve from a death sentence. They were all filthy and appeared near starving.

Radeski approached Tanner. “It has been decided. We would like to go to Argentina.”

“Good choice. I never asked you, but what about your families back home?”

“They are dead. If they are not already cold in the ground, they soon will be. Stalin’s secret police would have rounded them up the moment they found out that we’d deserted the worker’s paradise that is Mother Russia. It is sad, but that is life under Stalin. We will start over and someday you will find out that Stalin is worse than Hitler.”

The Russian column continued. “Sergeant, how many men did you bring with you?”

“Approximately eleven thousand. There could be more, perhaps less. No one was eager to stand around and be counted. They just wanted to leave. I am confident that other units will surrender once they see that we are safe. Until then, they will just stand aside.”

Tanner was flabbergasted at the number of Russians and the gaping hole it must be leaving in the German lines. “And the Germans are just letting you go? They’ve done nothing to stop you?”

The question surprised Radeski. “Germans? What Germans? There are no Germans, comrade Captain. They’ve all fled west.”

“Then what’s between us and Innsbruck and the American army fighting its way north?”

Radeski roared with laughter, as if it was the funniest question he’d heard in a long time. “There’s nothing between here and Innsbruck. What’s left of it is yours for the taking.”

* * *

The discussion between Allen Dulles and Henri Guisan took place in a small room in the town hall of Arbon and were tense. Guisan’s rank was simply “general.” It implied that he was the only man of that rank in the Swiss Army, which Dulles didn’t think was correct. The Swiss Army was several hundred thousand strong. Logic, therefore, said there had to be more than one general. Dulles had concluded that it was an honorific and simply meant that he was the overall commander.

Guisan, a small, prim-looking man with a thin mustache was, in time of crisis, the commander of all Switzerland. Intensely patriotic and a firm believer in doing everything to keep his country neutral, he had threatened to destroy the tunnels and bridges and move his people into the mountains if the Germans had attacked. The Nazis decided that conquering Switzerland was doable, but would not be worth the time and effort.

But times were now different. Major units of the Swiss Army were arrayed within a few miles the border with Germany. Now they were confident that it would be a fairer fight than it would have been a few years earlier. Back when World War II started, the Germans were strong in the air and had superb artillery and armor. Now they had neither and the Swiss army was larger than the rump German army across the border. Guisan had felt comfortable that his beloved nation would survive the carnage around it.

That is, until he heard what Dulles had to say.

“Let there be no doubt about it, General Guisan, my president strongly feels that the war with Germany must be brought to a swift and relatively bloodless conclusion. The Germans must either be destroyed or capitulate before winter closes down military activities. Therefore, we are giving you notice that our bombers will soon have free rein to bomb any and all targets in the Germanica rump state. These will include the crossing points where trains and columns of trucks are bringing into Germanica what are called humanitarian supplies. If necessary, we propose to starve the Germans. I am well aware that high-level bombing is notoriously inaccurate; therefore I urge you to evacuate areas close to the border, such as this lovely town of Arbon.”

Guisan’s face was turning red. “That is monstrous. We have done nothing to deserve this.”

Dulles shrugged. “Who has, General? You might ask the same question of the Poles, the French and the citizens of just about every nation in Europe. As a great American once said, war is hell. We will not commence bombing immediately. When we are prepared, we will give you twenty-four hours’ notice before we start.”

“We do not have an air force, but we do have guns and we will shoot down your planes.”

“If you do that, the planes escorting the bombers will have orders to attack those guns, wherever they might be situated. Your unique position has spared you the agonies of war, but that time has passed.”

“We will move to our own mountain forts and fight you from there.”

“We don’t care what you do, General. We will not be invading, so you can retreat to the mountains and sit there for all eternity and starve.”

Dulles thought he could see Guisan’s mind churning. “If you will do your best, we will do ours,” he finally admitted.

“Excellent. There are a few other factors to consider. While neither of us has a navy in the area, we will be launching armed gunboats onto Lake Constance. They will not come within three miles of Swiss soil while they bombard German targets. There may also be, ah, other activities on the lake.”

“One can only imagine,” Guisan said drily.

“And when the war is finally over, there will be the issue of Nazi money now on deposit in Swiss banks. These will be turned over to the Allies as part of German reparations. We are particularly interested in retrieving the money and other valuables stolen from Jews and deposited in your vaults.”

“Our bankers will never agree to that.”

“Yes they will. It might take a little while, but they will realize that they have no real choice. If they don’t, Switzerland will be isolated even more than she is now and trivialized. Financial centers will open elsewhere and all you will have left of your economy is skiing, good watches, and excellent chocolates. If your bankers accept our proposal, you will soon recover from any inconveniences you might suffer. If you play it right, you will come out on the side of the angels and the saints and the world will respect you.”

Guisan smiled tightly. “I have never thought of myself as either an angel or a saint, but I do see your point. I will discuss matters with my superiors and will get back to you.”

“Excellent. Just don’t take too long and don’t forget that close-in bombing will commence in a very short while.”

“If some of the higher-ranking Nazis want to leave Germany via Switzerland, what will be your stance?”

Now it was Dulles’ turn to smile and shrug. “You can do whatever you want with Goebbels and his ilk. As the saying goes, they can run but they can’t hide. They will ultimately be tracked to the ends of the earth if necessary. I would also appreciate it if you did not hamper our diplomatic operations in Switzerland while these matters sort themselves out.”

The two men shook hands and General Guisan smiled, this time with humor. “It has occurred to me, Mr. Dulles, that your new president is quite a bastard.”

“Sir, I will gladly convey your compliment.”